Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(3)

She leaned back in her chair, allowing the white silk of her blouse to gape as she smiled at Slim. His name still eluded her, but he wouldn’t. If she played the situation just right, this guy could lead her to Reitman.

When Slim correctly interpreted the invitation and sauntered forward to join Polly, she was distracted by a man in the corner of the bar. He stiffened in an almost imperceptible manner. Just a subtle tweak of his shoulders. Had he been there the last four nights? No, she didn’t think so, but his face was obscured by the fall of gray hair, the collar of his jacket. Knowing all too well how cons often worked in teams, she decided to keep an eye on him while feeling out Slim.

Funny, Slim was busy feeling her out. Typical con. “I assumed you were waiting for someone,” he said, sliding onto the chair beside her.

“Oh?” she purred, tucking her short black hair behind her ear. “Why is that?”

“You’re the only woman in the room.” He dipped his head and Polly could see he’d been good-looking once, probably before alcohol consumption had become his favorite pastime, an educated guess she made based on the tremor in his drinking hand. The raw red skin of his nose. “If you’re not waiting for someone, you must like being the exception to the rule.”

“The rule being what? Only men are allowed in this big bad boy’s bar?”

He smiled into a long swig of gin. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Good.” She gave a dainty shrug, going for a mischievous air. “I won’t have to apologize when I break them.”

He swirled the alcohol in his glass. “What are you looking for tonight?”

“Tonight?” She tugged the material of her skirt down, knowing it would only spring back up her thighs when she let it go. Which it did. Again, the figure huddled at the end of the bar demanded her attention, but she strove to focus on Slim, who’d finally let his gaze drop to her legs, an action she’d expected upon approach. This guy wasn’t bush league, and she needed to remember that. Dividing her attention between him and the gray-haired mystery man would be a misstep she couldn’t afford. “I’m just trying to stay warm,” Polly continued. “It’s a cold night out there, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” Slim murmured, scrutinizing her. “If you don’t mind heading once more into the fray, I was planning on eating dinner down the street. Join me.”

Polly perched her grinning lips on the rim of her wineglass, even as her insides recoiled at the command. She didn’t like being told what to do. Not by anyone, but a con issuing demands took the ever-loving cake. And speaking of cake…“Do I get dessert, too?”

“I’ve never been known to skip the best part.” Slim tossed back the last of his drink, set the glass down on the bar and held out his hand. “I guess you were waiting for someone after all, huh?”

Maybe I’ll kill him, too, for good measure. “You seem to be good at reading people,” she said, allowing him to assist her off the chair.

His hand smoothed into the small of her back. “You have no idea.”

Prick. Polly picked up her purse, comforted by the weight of her recently procured nine-millimeter. “Lead the way.”

…

The best cons included more than just a mechanic, also known as the man performing the con. Austin himself had worked with a partner since he’d turned sixteen and watched his father get taken for five quid in a game of three-card monte during a family trip to Brighton. He’d seen it all take place, like a play unfolding on a stage. At the time, he hadn’t known what the term “shill” meant. He’d only seen the silent communication pass between the mechanic—the card dealer—and the man who’d taken a turn before his father. They’d been in on it together. I won! The shill had said it loud enough to stop passersby in their tracks. This guy must be blind…I’ve already won supper money for the week.

Austin had scoffed to himself, expecting his father to catch on. To see clear through the pair of wankers who’d pulled the wool over everyone else’s eyes. Only his father hadn’t copped on, and when it was his turn to guess which bent playing card hid the pebble, Austin’s family had walked away minus a fiver. He could still remember the stifling disappointment he’d felt in his father—how it had kept him silent the whole ride back to London. The next day, he’d skipped school and hitched a ride back to Brighton to watch the monte sharks all day, learning their tricks. Before long, he’d set up his own operation on the opposite end of the beach, swindling unsuspecting tourists out of their holiday money.

He’d done fair enough for a beginner, but he’d needed a partner. A shill. A chiller to step in when a mark didn’t take kindly to being cheated. There’d been no need to seek out a partner, however, because a partner had found him right enough. Found him, sunk his claws in, taught him the ropes…then double-crossed him by making off with his half of a million-dollar score.

Austin’s hands turned to fists inside his coat pockets as he followed Polly down the darkened street in Near North Side, just north of the Loop, Chicago’s business district. His blood pumped in both temples, creating a heavy drumbeat to match his footsteps. She couldn’t know the identity of the man she walked beside. Could she? He wouldn’t wager on anything where Polly was concerned, suspecting the undercover squad had only begun to tap her capabilities as a hacker. But this man—one of the best shills in the bloody business—was dangerous, despite his affable demeanor.